


Lounge Chair Forts

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Feelstide 2015, M/M, Magical Hat, exchange, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THE PROMPT: Neither of them have anyone to spend the holiday with, so both of them are working christmas watching monitors and whatnot at SHIELD. When the next shift comes on one of them invites the other to their place for a christmas drink. Needless to say they don't spend any christmases alone after that.</p><p>(Or: How Phil and Clint end up as dates for Christmas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lounge Chair Forts

 

Phil has spent the last few---no, not really, more like every single one since he entered SHIELD--Christmases alone. Again, technically, not really unless babysitting baby agents in the back of some non-descript fake public utility van or bleeding out from a stomach wound in Texas or being stuck in a cruise ship filled with drug-dealers counted as company. It was more like he never spent a single Christmas not on a mission. By far, baddies aside, the cruise ship was his favourite because he got free caviar and a really expensive dinner for his troubles.

This year wasn't any different. He has expected his luck running out after a successful mission with minimal SHIELD casualties and none of the human traffickers left alive. It did not come as a surprise that whoopity-doo his name got pulled out of the magician's hat and got saddled with Christmas Eve duty. SHIELD decided long ago that instead of having an HR nightmare with assigning agents, they left the selection off to chance. It was like a very badly referenced game of the Hunger Games where the odds were never in Phil's favour.

It was not like he minded. He'd gotten used to not being able to spend Christmas like a normal person so the holiday was pretty much another day for him. Normally one asset and one handler were on-duty just in case the baddies come a-knocking on Christmas' door. They don't. So it was probably a rotten excuse to make agents suffer for no apparent reason. He shrugged; this was his life now.

"Heya, boss~" Barton's voice greeted him from the other end of the room. Phil groaned; that had to be a hallucination. He must be so infatuated by the strong-armed, shaggy-haired, round-assed asset that he was currently handling. And to be honest, he had been for years. Barton wasn't his first asset, but damn that guy could pull out moves that Phil never thought was humanly possible. Add to that the fact that the man was especially flexible, and all the things he could imagine himself using that flexibility for---

"Coulson?" Clint's voice called again. Phil stopped in his tracks and blinked.

"Barton?" he asked with a hint of surprise bleeding into his tone. "What are you going here?"

Barton shrugged and gestured behind him. There was a makeshift fort from lounge chairs from the rec-room and pillows from god-knows-where, a blanket neatly placed on top of the whole thing. It was Hawkeye's nest. It was a weird childlike trait that was more comforting on Ops than it should be. He'd been inside one or two of Barton's forts over the years. It should be funnier than it was except that---

"It's Christmas," Phil pointed out, reeling back only when he saw Barton flinch. He had not meant it to sound quite so---cold. But he was in shock because Barton was here with him--on duty. Maybe the fates were smiling down on him, after all. Yet still, he did not want his one and only chance with the amazing archer to be from holiday overtime. "Aren't you supposed to be out? With Natasha? Or Woo? Or Morse?"

"Yeah... no." Barton shrugged again, getting more uncomfortable by the minute. His earlier chipper attitude was gone completely. He was staring at the floor. "Natasha's on assignment. Jimmy's with his girlfriend. And Bobbi's... well, we kinda broke up a few months ago, she's kinda seeing some other dude... erhm.. Hunter?"

Phil wanted to kick himself in the face. He realizes that it must have been the most insensitive thing that he could have ever asked. But hey, he did not ask about Clint's estranged FBI brother so that was a plus for him, right? He, too, looked away, more from embarrassment than anything else. What could he possibly say now that would make this much less awkward for the both of them? He doesn't even know where to start.

"So, uhm, you?" Barton spoke up for him.

"Got my name plucked out of a hat." He replied meekly. A faint blush stained his cheeks.

"Really?!" Barton asked, eyes gone wide, looking like it was the most interesting piece of news he’d heard all day and, really, that was sad. "I thought you guys..." he made an I don't know gesture which his arms and shoulders "...volunteered or something?"

Phil let out a sigh. "Handlers are very much human like you." He said it with an exaggerated eye-roll. "We eat. We sleep. And we would occasionally appreciate a well-deserved holiday vacation but still, here I am." He was resigned to the fact that people did think that he was a robot, or an alien, or whatever-the-hell sci-fi excuse they can think in order to justify his name being placed in the hat despite him just coming back from a week-long mission in Nicaragua. Wasn't it common practice to leave a spare change of clothes in the office? Or did people like going around with the unknown gunk of the day all over them?

"How about you?" Phil managed to say before he can get further lost in his own head. "Odds weren't in your favour?" He asked and bit his tongue at the Hunger Games reference. Barton visibly brightened for a moment before answering.

"Could say that," Barton replied, somewhat shy.

Phil had never known Barton to be shy not in the field, not with his body, and certainly not about his marksmanship skills with a bow. He found Shy-Barton somewhat distressing. He crossed over to the man's space before he could even registering moving. "Clint?"

Barton laughed uneasily. "I'm kinda..." he rubbed the back of his neck "...living here?"

Phil was quite literally at a loss for words. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times before deciding to close it without saying anything. It made Barton squirm under his gaze. He did not like that because he just wanted to go right up and hug Barton, but that would be inappropriate. So instead, he started to talk.

"I've been in SHIELD for more than half my life and have never spent a single holiday out of the office. I've always been on a mission, finishing potentially earth-shattering paperwork, or some other bizzaro thing that keeps me busy. I can't even remember the last time I spent Christmas at home, let alone with someone because being in SHIELD doesn't give me time for much.

Now it was Barton's turn to look at him funny and Phil fidgeted under that kaleidoscope daze. He felt it before under the scope of a sniper rifle over a hundred feet away but now that it was a mere twenty-four inches from his face the prickling sensations and goose bumps rose two-fold. Good thing he was wearing his suit jacket.

"Unlucky us, then, huh?" Barton joked and finally, finally, broke the tension that was building. He threw his head back and laughed out loud. It echoed through the empty room. "Me and you; You and me. I can't say who's got it worse." he huffed out,  still laughing. "I can't tell which is sadder; spending all your Christmases at work or spending them all alone. We're a pair of unlucky idiots, aren't we?"

But Phil did not find the latter part funny. "What do you mean by alone, Barton?"

Barton froze up. "Erhm, like here in SHIELD? I normally stay-in when I don't have a mission... so... "

Phil searched Barton's eyes for any hint of jest but there was none.

"You've been staying here? All this time? For how long?" Phil cannot stop his mouth diarrhea even if he wanted to. There were just too many question that he wanted to ask; the most important being "Why?"

Barton was flustered by all the questions. "I stay because I haven't gotten an apartment yet. SHIELD kinda froze all my previous assets when  got recruited so I had to start from scratch again... and I can't really lead you guys to my nest right? I figured it was cheaper living in the barracks rather than some rundown place back in Brooklyn 'cause at least the heat and pressure here is good. It's a bitch to get food delivered though..."

Phil couldn’t believe his ears. Barton was living here all this time? How could he not have known that? Here, as in, SHIELD HQ, the whole time and Barton's been just here, he counted in his head, nearly a decade! He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

"...It's not big deal. The food is pretty good even if it's microwave only. Not as crispy though---"

"Come home with me," Phil blurted out before he can stop himself. Barton had that deer-in-headlight look from the time that he was stuck between making Natasha's tea or Phil's coffee.

It cut off Barton mid-speech,and now he was gaping at Phil like a goldfish. "Wha--what? Did you just ask me to go home with you?" In a minute the not-shy bravado was back three-fold. He put a smirk on his face and gave the worst possible impersonation of casual that Phil had ever seen in his life. Yet this man calls himself a spy! It was embarrassing for Barton and for SHIELD. "Sir, you gotta buy a gal a drink first," he said with sultry faux-swagger that tasted bile in Phil's mouth.

"Barton, Clint," Phil cut in. "I'm serious. Spend Christmas with me, after the shift-change at 9pm."

Barton blinked and his expression hardened. "Look, sir, I know this might be amusing to you but---"

"Jack, scotch, eggnog," Phil declared, unwilling to back down. If he had known, god if he had known that this is how Barton spends his Christmases, he would have requested--no, he would have demanded straight to Fury with a letter of resignation on standby--to get vacation leave on Christmas so he could bring this gorgeous man home. He would have because he hated that pitiful hopeful-but-unbelieving expression in Barton's eyes. He wanted to track down every single person that has hurt Barton in his life and personally erase them from existence, SHIELD agents included.

"Anything you want, B--Clint, I'll even make you dinner."

At this point Barton's expression had changed from gaping fish to pure disbelief. He was looking at Phil like he was a Skrull. Within seconds, Phil was on the ground with the sharp edge of a knife pressed against his throat. "Who are you?” Barton demanded with dark eyes. "And what did you do to my Phil?"

Very slowly, Phil encircled a hand over Barton's wrist and tugged. "Clint Barton." He forced his voice to be steady. "Codename: Hawkeye. You weight 190lbs. You scored a perfect 100 on all your SHIELD marksmanship scores in every single weapon during your entire tenure here. You trained with Natasha Romanova, aka the Black Widow. You were recruited by none other than the AD himself, Nick Fury. You specialize have a quiver full of trick arrows that you've secretly developed with RND."

Barton growled when he finished speaking, digging the blade a little bit more. "Bullshit. You can download all that in SHIELD servers. Tell me something only you would know, Phil." He spit out the name like a curse. His eyes were ablaze with unhidden anger as he stared Phil down, pressing his entire weight on Phil's body.

Phil bit back a groan as Barton dug against his sensitive man-parts. He thought long and hard even under the sting on his neck and the pressure on his groin. His eyes snapped open. "The first time you trusted me to have your back was Bucharest, Romania."

The knife clattered to the floor. Barton's eyes were wide. "How could you... how could you have possibly known that?" He said with a wavering voice. "I... I never said that."

"Not out loud," Phil admitted. He tried to sit up but Barton's weight was still on him, getting tighter before the belt with each passing minute. Barton, up close, smelled good like he has just taken a shower before setting up in the observation room. His breathing was still and carefully paced, the way he held it when he was about to shoot a mark. Phil was the mark right now and it scared him shitless. "You never said it to me out loud."

He'd seen Barton like this before--with Natasha. So, he copied her movements. Gently, he raised his hand and ran it through Barton's short spiky blond hair. "I'm me," he affirmed. "Not a Skrull or whatever weird experiment that the junior agents call me. I'm me, Clint. Trust me again right now like you do on the field. I'm not... I would never want to hurt you."

That did it. Barton started to relax against Phil's hand.

"So... dinner and beer? My place?" Phil finally asked minutes later. They were cuddled against the pillow fort Barton created out of tradition. It’d be useless now if Barton agreed. Phil really wanted Barton to agree. He imagined that it'd be nice curled up under snuggies on the beat-up old sofa that's probably been gathering dust from the two weeks he was out on a mission. There was also the trash that he forgot to take out before he left.

Barton lifted his head from where it rested again Phil's thigh. "Okay."

They left SHIELD at half-past nine. Garrett and Ward were on the next shift. They both eyed Clint's lounge chair-fort with much scepticism. Barton just shrugged and tossed his discarded blanket over his shoulder. Phil looked unimpressed.  

"Really, sir," Clint spoke up from behind him. "You really don't have to do this... I can just stay here in my bunk and slum it for the next two days like nothing happened. You don't have to feel sorry for me." He shrugged. "It's not like I've never done it before. It's really not so bad... I get first dibs on all the holiday left-overs that everyone brings it---"

"Do you never shut up, Barton?" Phil asked with an exasperated sigh. He massaged his temples with his index and his thumb. They were already outside the building. "Really..." he said, giving Clint his full attention like he has done so in their previous operations. He even dared to stare straight into the endless pools of blue and green that were Clint Barton's eyes.

"... If you don't want to, it's fine if you stay here, B--Clint. But I would appreciate your company." He tried to say it without looking as pathetic as practically begging for company sounded in his own ears. "You're not required to spend the holiday with me but I would prefer spending it with you than spending it alone." He stared at Clint for a long time, watching the gears churn and turn inside Clint's head until, finally, the archer nodded his head.

"Where to, boss?"

Phil guided them through the cold winter streets of New York, under the slightly warmer subway tunnels, and the half-block to his apartment building. It was a small dingy place with rickety steps of an old complex that was only four storeys high. Most of the neighbourhood was decorated with many kinds of Christmas decor that glowed in different colours outside their windows. Their landlord was a nice Asian couple who even had a snowman-santa on the small patch of land that was supposed to be a lawn.

"I'm guess that's you?" Clint pointed out more than asked as he gestured to the last empty window on the fourth floor.

Phil nodded. "That's me," he admitted with a slight blush covering his cheeks. He shuffled his keys out of his winter coat and shakily unlocked the front door. Inside was a whole lot warmer than outside. He absolutely could not wait to get his thick winter coat off, as fast as he possibly could without ripping the wool apart. He was sweating profusely by the time they reached his door.

"This is me." he said, gesturing Clint inside.

"This is..." Clint said with pure wonder in his voice while looking about the apartment.

"--it's nothing much. SHIELD doesn't really pay that well... um, welcome home? Make yourself comfortable. I haven't gone shopping in two weeks. There's probably spoiled leftovers in the fridge. I'll have to throw that away. There's, uhm, cable..? I think I paid cable this month so there should be something good or crappy, whichever suits your taste---"

Phil was cut-off, abruptly, by Clint sealing their lips together. It's sweet and soft and closed-mouth. It takes Phil a few seconds before he can even respond because this was not his intention when he asked Clint to come over. He thought they'd catch a crappy clichéd Christmas movie like the Nightmare before Christmas--okay, maybe not so crappy films. Then, drink nearly-spoiled coffee grounds that has been waiting in his cupboard for forever but he hasn't had time to open yet. He was about to mentally go about his current pantry list but then Clint does something with his tongue and--okay, kissing now.

Phil opens his mouth for Clint's tongue. It's delicious and soft and fuck he need to stop mentally narrating all this in his head and enjoy it.


End file.
